


Something Worth Rebuilding

by emilyshee



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Best Friends, Episode: e023 Eternal Scouts, Gen, Graduation, Night Vale Scouts, Nineteen, Teenagers, Underage Drinking, mentions of gross/disturbing cafeteria food, teenage cursing, time loops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 15:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2656733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyshee/pseuds/emilyshee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of vignettes about Cecil and Earl's friendship at different stages of their lives.  I wanted to do a more platonic take on Cecil and Earl's relationship, because while I love a good romance or even unrequited love fic, friendships are important too.  (Also, I've been having all the Cecil and Earl besties! feels lately.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Badges

Earl brushes the last wood shaving away from his spiderwolf and smiles:  once the counselor checks this last project, he'll have earned the Wood Carving merit badge, his third in the field of Nefarious Arts and Crafts.  Still smiling, he turns to the boy sitting next to him.

"Wow, Cecil, that's awesome!"

"Thanks!  Yours is good too."

Earl nods.  His spiderwolf carving is good:  it's technically proficient and anatomically correct, and Earl is proud of it.  But it is also cold and lifeless.  Cecil's carving is _expressive._ The lines are almost the same (they are working from a shared reference photo), but somehow there is menace lurking around the animal's mouth, and power coiling in its haunches; there is a gleam in it's eyes that speaks of danger, but also of freedom and wildness and pride in its own nature.  Cecil's spiderwolf is as beautiful and frightening as Night Vale itself.  Earl feels all of this, but cannot put it into words.

"Yours is better," is all he says.

Cecil does not agree or disagree, but he grins, a bit sheepishly because he's so rarely better than Earl at anything in scouting and he's a bit embarrassed by how proud he is that he's managed it now.

"What do you want to work on next?"  Cecil asks.

"It's your turn to pick."

"I was thinking...I kind of want to earn the Subversive Radio Host badge.  You know, cause of the tablets and all.  But if you don't want to..."

"No, that's a great idea!"

* * *

 Cecil sleeps with his library card under his pillow for the next two weeks, but it's Earl who wakes up in the library one night, returning with several books on radio broadcasting and equipment and a cool cut on his cheek to illustrate the story of his thrilling, bare-bones escape from the librarians that gets wilder with every telling.  Cecil smiles a bit disappointedly, but they read and take notes together until they both have enough for the required two oral presentations on "How Radio Works" and "The History of Subversive Radio in Rebellions and Wartime."  The merit badge counselor signs them both off on the first two requirements, but after he pulls Cecil aside with a frown and reminds him that, while teamwork is encouraged, it is important that each scout does the his own work for the badge.  Cecil nods, hurt, and tells Earl that he thinks they should do the first of the two project requirements separately before coming back together for the final requirement - actually hijacking the radio station's feed and broadcasting an unapproved message to Night Vale.

Cecil works very hard on a rousing speech designed to stir revolutionary fervor, imagining what Leonard Burton would say if Night Vale should fall under the thrall of one of the tyrannical powers he learned about in his research and he should have to stir the citizens to uprising, and he delivers it to their troop as if he is on the radio, enunciating carefully in his best high and screechy radio voice and calling his fellow scouts "listeners."  And he gets enthusiastic applause - but he cannot shake the feeling that everyone is more impressed with the code Earl has designed to communicate secret messages over the air waves.

* * *

It's colder than he expected, on the radio station roof, and he and Earl are alone.  Scouts don't usually broadcast from the roof when they earn this badge (mostly "hijack the broadcast" means "sneak into the station after hours, pause whatever pre-recorded segment is going on after Leonard's show that night, and speak into the live mike before pressing play again"), but Earl has gotten really into doing this properly, just as if the proper authorities were in the building right now trying to shut them down and they were not standing above a mostly-empty station after hours.  They've already wired their portable microphone into one of the soundboards downstairs before climbing up to the roof to deal with the radio tower.  Its blinking light has created a halo of darkness around it, where no stars show through.

"It's amazing, isn't it?"  Cecil says, looking up, "The void.  It makes me feel alone, like I'm the only thing in a whole universe that's really just that dark emptiness.  I know there are stars and stuff, but what even are they?  They're just weird points of light.  Are they even real?  Is the moon?  Stupid moon.  I bet it's not there.  I bet it's just something that I made up.  I wonder if everything is just something that I made up.  Do you ever feel that way, Earl?  Earl?  Hey - you started without me!"

The confusing rush of feelings that always envelope him when he looks at the sky evaporate in a flush of anger at Earl, who is already kneeling at the foot of the radio tower, his hands buried in a mess of wires.

"Well, I didn't come all the way up here to listen to you freak out about the sky.  C'mere, let me show you what I did."

Cecil is torn between the desires to yell at his friend and to earn his badge quickly, but his curiosity about what Earl is doing wins and he crouches down beside him.

"This is the wire that powers the radio tower, see?  It normally leads right into the station, but there's an auxiliary generator that trips automatically if the station loses power in an emergency.  Look, I've undone the connection and wired the tower directly to the generator.  Now we won't lose the feed if someone downstairs tries to cut the power to shut us down.  And this wire here, it transfers the sound to the tower, and this is the one from the station that it's usually connected to.  That broadcast is controlled by the booth.  This other wire leads directly to the soundboard we hijacked downstairs.  All we have to do is switch them, and we're live.  Do you want to speak to Night Vale?  Or should I?"

Cecil wants to.  He really, really wants to, because it's the radio and he loves it and this is all he's ever wanted to do and he doesn't know if he can wait until he's old enough to replace Leonard Burton like the stone tablets in City Hall say he will.  Also, he's still mad at Earl for starting without him, and he knows that the merit badge counselor thinks that their oral reports used the same information because he's cheating off Earl's work - which isn't fair, they did the research together, and he wants to prove that this is his project too, and he's part of it!  But he knows, deep down, that it wouldn't be fair, and Cecil wants, so badly, to be a good scout - trustworthy, loyal, helpful, threatening, courteous, kind, anarchous, cheerful, thrifty, brave, weird, and blasphemous - and he knows what a good scout would do.

"You should do it," Cecil says, "I'll get to all the time when I'm older.  This might be your only chance."

"Are you sure?" asks Earl, "You love the radio."

"Sure.  Getting to change the wires and throw the feed is just as cool."  Which is a total lie, but Cecil says it anyway.

"All right," says Earl, grabbing the microphone with a confidant smile and getting to his feet.  Cecil takes his place at the foot of the tower.  "Should be easy right?  Just announce our presence, say it's for the badge, and give our names and troop number."

"And all of Night Vale will hear you," says Cecil, trying not to sound too jealous.  "Ready?"

"Ready," says Earl, who suddenly looks a bit nervous.

"I'll switch the feed on three.  One - Two - Three."

Cecil changes the wires and listens for Earl's words.  "We're live." he says, when he doesn't hear anything.  "Earl?"

Earl is standing, stiff and frightened, clutching the microphone like it's an electric fence.  His mouth is moving, but no sound is coming out, and his eyes are wide and staring.

"Just say what we rehearsed, Earl," says Cecil, getting up and touching Earl's shoulder.  Earl shoves the microphone into his face.

"Hello, Night Vale," Cecil says quickly, "We apologize for the few seconds of dead air that you just experienced.  If you are adjusting your radios, please stop.  There is nothing wrong with them.  It's just that two Boy Scouts are attempting to earn our Subversive Radio Host badge, like it usually is when you hear a child's voice on your radio.  We are from Troop Number 666.  I'm Cecil Gershwin Palmer, and this is my best friend..."

He moves the microphone over to Earl's lips and hisses in his ear.  "Just say your name, Earl, say your name!"

"Earl Harlan!" Earl squeals, sounding terrified.

"We'd like to thank you for your patience, listeners, and your help with earning our badges.  Scouting is very important for the community!  At least that's what our Scoutmasters always say."  He motions to Earl to go back to the array they'd set up.  "We now return you to whatever it was you were listening to before.  We hope you didn't miss anything important." 

He signals, and Earl switches the wires back, changing the feed to what should have been broadcasting the whole time.  Cecil sighs in relief and pride.  He's just spoken to Night Vale on the air, like a real radio host!  Earl groans.

"I panicked," he says, "I can't believe I panicked.  I thought about everyone listening and I just froze."

"It's OK," Cecil says, "We still did it."

"You mean you still did it.  If you hadn't been there..."

"But I was.  And we did fine.  _You_ did fine.  You set everything up.  And you said your name on the radio, even though it scared you."

"I did, didn't I?"  Earl is starting to smile a little, "I spoke to Night Vale."

"On the radio," Cecil agrees.

Earl looks at him and smiles wider.  "I can't believe you just made up all that stuff to say like that.  It was so cool.  You sounded just like a real radio host."

"Really?"  Cecil says, " _Neat!"_ Cecil pauses.  "Omigod, do you think _Leonard Burton_ heard me."

"I don't know," says Earl, as he starts packing up their stuff, "Maybe."

"Gosh, I hope he did.  But then, I hope he didn't, because if he did, I would just - die.  Absolutely die.  Just - gone - poof!"

"No more Cecil?" asks Earl, laughing.

"No more Cecil," Cecil agrees, before he notices what Earl is doing and starts helping him pack up.

Later, when they are downstairs undoing what they did to the soundboard, Cecil takes a look around.

"When I grow up, and I have my own radio show," he promises spontaneously, "I'm going to have you on, like, all the time.  You'll be a regular guest."

"What for?"

"I don't know, I can, interview you about current events or something.  Or we could tell awesome stories about how cool we were when we were kids and all our adventures with the Scouts.  Or you can have a regular segment where you tell people about whatever it is you do when you grow up.  I bet you get a cool job."

"What if I freeze up again?"

"Nah, we'll be adults then.  We won't be scared of anything."

Earl grins.  "Deal," he says.


	2. Dating

“Break up with her,” Cecil says, not for the first time.

“She’s sixteen, she’ll grow out of it.”

“Earl, we’re sixteen!”

“Yeah, and we’re annoying little shits. You can’t give up on a relationship just because it has some problems.”

“This is a pretty big problem!”

“Ugh, I hate soylent green day,” says Hannah Chen, plopping down across from them with her cafeteria tray, “What are you two arguing about?”

“I’m having a fight with Jenny, and Cecil seems to think that it’s his business, _which it is not,”_ Earl explained.

“Well _excuse me_ for being concerned about my best friend.”

“That stinks, Earl,” says Hannah, pointedly ignoring Cecil, “What are you and Jenny fighting about?”

“She got a bit jealous, and Cecil is blowing it completely out of proportion.”

“Excuse me, but this is not about Jenny being jealous.” Cecil puts down his fork and looks at Hannah. “She thinks bisexual people are more likely to cheat.”

“Is that true?”

“She’s never said it out loud, but I think so,” Earl admits reluctantly, “She never gets jealous of other girls, only when she thinks I’m looking at another guy.”

Hannah makes a face. Earl sighs in frustration.

“It was so stupid, too,” he complains, “ _She_ told her friend Marissa that she thought the new exchange student was hot, in front of me, and I just agreed with her. Then she flipped out!”

“Which is why you should break up with her,” Cecil insists, “That kind of disgusting prejudice is just – it’s – I can’t even – what an asshole!”

“Look, she’s gonna learn she’s wrong sooner or later.”

“I cannot believe you are actually dating someone who is, like, stereotyping you-”

“I should be like you then, right? Never date anyone at all because I’m waiting for someone ‘perfect?’ Get hopeless crushes on people and then _never_ talk to them because I might find out that they’re _not_ perfect? Just sit around mooning and moping all the time like a total loser?”

“Look, I’m not stupid OK? I know that nobody’s _really_ perfect. But people can be perfect _to you_ when you _accept_ them, and biphobia is not something you should _ever_ accept!”

“I hate to say this,” Hannah cuts in, before they can yell anymore, “Cause you’re totally right about him, but I think in this case, Cecil might actually have a point.”

Cecil makes an exasperated face at both of them and angrily starts eating his soylent green.

“I don’t accept it,” says Earl, “That’s why we’re fighting about it. I told her that I couldn’t be with anyone who didn’t trust me, especially if it’s because of my sexuality, and that I’m not going out with her again until she apologizes and promises never to do it again.”

“So you are broken up?” Hannah asks.

“Not officially. I’m waiting for her to talk to me. Cecil thinks I should break it off completely without any conditions.”

“How long are you guys gonna talk about me like I’m not here? Cause I could move to another table.”

“How long are you going to stay up on your soapbox about my relationship?”

“Well, I’m sorry if I’m the only one at this table who cares about taking a stand against discrimination-”

“Just can it all right! It only happened yesterday and I already miss her.”

“Sorry.”

“How about you, Hannah, you got any drama for us to discuss?” Earl asks.

“Nope,” Hannah says smugly, “Still cheerfully single and crush-free.”

“Lucky bastard.”

“Look,” says Cecil, suddenly turning back to Earl again, “I would be angry no matter who this was happening to, because it’s just not right on principle, but it’s even worse that it’s _you._ I mean, you’re like the perfect boy scout, and _trustworthy_ and _loyal_ : those are the first two things on the list. Anyone who knows you even a little should know better than that. It’s just not fair. You deserve so much better.”

“Better, huh?” Earl asks with a sly smile, “Maybe I should ask out Uche Okonkwo.”

“Oh my god, you should, you would make the best couple! Go for it!” Cecil says earnestly.

“Cecil, I was teasing you. I’m not gonna ask out your crush.”

“Why not? He’s a great guy, and it’s not like I have dibs or anything. You can’t call dibs on a person. And I’m not good enough for him anyway.”

“Who told you that?”

“Uh, _you.”_

“I never said that!”

“Oh really, cause it seems like this whole conversation has been about how I’m nosy and self-righteous and annoying. And if that’s what my best friend in the world thinks about me, then how could I come anywhere close to deserving the hottest and nicest boy in school?”

“You can add hypocrite to the list, because you just got finished saying that you know that nobody’s perfect.”

“Thanks, Earl.”

“No, I mean it. I’m not going to take back anything about you being nosy and self-righteous, because you are totally are sometimes especially right now about me and Jenny, plus you overshare and you dress weird and you talk in your sleep in modified Sumerian, I swear you came this close to accidentally calling something up on the last camping trip. _But_ you are also one of the most caring people I know, and you’re really smart, and you’re passionate about things, and you’re kind, and interesting to talk to, and there is _no one in the world_ who is too good for you. And I will – I will beat up anyone who says any different.”

Cecil smiles in spite of himself. Though he has the badges to prove that he’s capable, Cecil cannot imagine Earl actually beating up anybody.

“That includes you, so watch it,” Earl concludes, shaking his fist ineffectually at Cecil, who laughs reluctantly.

“Which doesn’t necessarily mean that Uche will want to go out with you,” Hannah warns.

“Yeah, no, there’s no accounting for taste,” Earl agrees, “But you should ask him out.”

“I couldn’t!” Cecil protests.

“Why not?” asks Hannah, “It can’t hurt. He’s way too nice to laugh at you or tease you about it. The worst he could do is not date you, and he’s not dating you now, so what have you got to lose?”

Earl nods encouragingly, but Cecil shakes his head emphatically.

“Well, speak of the hooded figure,” says Hannah suddenly, and both boys follow her gaze to see Uche Okonkwo coming towards their table from the lunch line. Cecil’s eyes widen and he looks down at his tray, staring intently at his soylent green as if it has just become the most fascinating thing in the world. Earl keeps looking, though, and nods at Uche as he passes. He smiles back politely.

“Talk-to-him,” Earl murmurs in sing-song out of the corner of his mouth.

“I-caAn’t,” Cecil replies in the same manner.

Earl rolls his eyes and begins eating. When Cecil judges it safe, he looks up again, staring in the direction Uche was headed. Suddenly he breathes in sharply.

“What is it?” asks Earl.

“He just sat down next to Jenny,” Cecil says apologetically.

Earl looks over, and sure enough, Uche is sitting with his maybe-still-but-maybe-ex girlfriend. He puts his hand on her shoulder, and she doesn’t lean into the touch, but neither does she pull away before he drops his hand and they start eating.

“Good for them,” Earl says in a small tight voice, before looking away. There’s silence at their table for a moment, then Earl says,

“We’re both going to die miserable and alone, aren’t we?”

“Looks that way.” Cecil sighs.

Hannah stares at the pair of them glumly picking at their food and decides to ask the obvious question.

“Why don’t you two just date?”

Cecil and Earl look at her, then at each other, and for a moment Hannah thinks that she’s done something beautiful, and she sees herself ten years later at their wedding holding up a champagne flute and telling everyone the story of that magic day in the cafeteria.

Then Cecil and Earl burst out laughing.

“I mean, no offense, Cecil, considering the big pep talk I just made, but it would be like, too weird!” says Earl, when he gets control of himself.

“So weird! Totally weird.”

“Like kissing my brother.”

“I know. Ugh,” Cecil says, and he visibly shudders. Then he looks concerned. “I mean not that you’re not a great catch, but…”

“Yeah, I know. It’s really OK.”

“Let’s set Hannah up with someone, she’s way too calm and happy over there,” Cecil says brightly.

“Oh, no,” Hannah says, “Don’t you even think about it.”

“You know what we should do,” says Earl, poking at his plate with his fork, “Is ask the school board to give us a vegetarian option in the cafeteria. Especially on soylent green day.”

“Now there’s an idea, Cecil,” says Hannah, “Use that crusading passion of yours to actually get something done.”

“We should start a petition,” says Cecil thoughtfully, “And see if we can get the student council involved. Do you think they’d let me make a speech during one of the assemblies?”

* * *

 

Jenny makes it a week before calling Earl in the middle of the night, crying about how much she misses him and how sorry she is for how she mistreated him. They have a long talk the next day, and start dating again. After a few pointed comments from Hannah about respecting Earl’s decision, Cecil manages to swallow his criticism and even smiles at Jenny a time or two.

Two weeks after that, with much encouragement from Earl, Cecil gets up the nerve to talk to Uche Okonkwo in the hall. He doesn’t ask him out, but he does give Uche his number, “in case you ever want to talk, or hang out.”

Uche does not call. But he does not mock or laugh at Cecil either, and Cecil learns to feel better knowing that he tried. “Sometimes people don’t call,” Hannah tells him, “And that sucks. But at least you know that he’s not calling because he’s choosing not to, not because you were too much of a coward to encourage him.” Cecil nods.

Hannah Chen is walking is walking home from Cecil’s house when she passes Luci Gutierrez coming the other way on the sidewalk. They do not know each other, so they do not talk. Luci is thinking about how badly this town needs an ice cream shop and imagining flavors, combining and recombining ingredients in her head to create the perfect taste. Hannah is thinking about why she doesn’t fall in and out of love as easily as Cecil, or even Earl, and wondering if there is something wrong with her.

It is the third time that their paths have crossed this month, but it will still be many years more before they meet.


	3. Graduation

“You think…you think maybe we made the code too hard?” asks Earl.

“It had to be hard, or the Sherriff’s Secret Police would have cracked it,” Cecil replies, “You said so yourself.”

They are out in the scrublands, in one of the few places in Night Vale where the Sherriff’s Secret Police don’t bother placing monitoring equipment. But just in case, they have used their boy scout training to sweep for bugs, then built an electronic signal blocker out of rocks and twigs as they learned for their Undercover Woodland Operations badges as an added precaution. They’ve even picked a slightly receded patch of earth between two sand dunes that will be difficult to spot from a helicopter, unless one flies directly overhead.

They have told their families that they want to spend the night after graduation camping out together in the desert, one last night doing what they always used to do as boys before they begin the next stages of their lives. That’s what they told the other kids at school, too. But underneath it, coded in a pattern of behavior directed at the rest of their graduating class, in odd turns of phrase, in the formula of items on their cafeteria trays, in a series of gestures and signals, has been another, secret message. There has been a flat space cleared around their tent, perfect for dancing; there has been a 4-hour medley of top 40 dance hits quietly inserted into the radio station’s schedule by the hands of a brave intern; there has been grain mash slowly fermenting in a still very well hidden near one of the Boy Scout’s campgrounds. Tonight, they are prepared to do something that, with all the surveillance, Night Vale teens _never_ get to do: underage drinking.

“Yeah, but I think that maybe none of the other kids cracked it either.”

“But…but some of them were other Boy Scouts! And Girl Scouts! They should know code-breaking!”

“I know, but then, where are they?”

“Fashionably late?” says Cecil hopefully, but it is two hours after they asked everyone to come, and no one has shown up. Earl doesn’t bother responding. He waits while Cecil deflates on his own.

“Maybe it wasn’t even that the code was too hard,” says Earl, “Maybe no one was paying enough attention to us to realize that we were sending a code at all.”

“So all of it, the risking life and limb in the library to get those books on distillation, nearly getting arrested blacking out the surveillance around the school science labs until we could steal enough equipment to set up a still, setting everything up in the desert, setting traps to keep the other scouts away, coming up with reasons to sneak away from our families long enough to check on everything, picking this place, clearing it out, devising the code, sending the code, me nearly getting absorbed by station management changing the radio schedule so we could have music: all of that was for nothing?”

“It seems that way,” says Earl, “I think our graduation party is ruined.”

Cecil looks around at the radio with the extra speakers they’ve set up around the clearing, the packages of red solo cups, the bags and bags of pretzels and chips and other party snacks, the gallons of orange milk they hauled out here for a mixer, the few precious bottles of moonshine lined up next to Earl, and the sad little streamers and balloons in Night Vale High colors that Cecil has (pathetically, it now seems) placed on various cacti and scrub bushes to provide a festive atmosphere.

“Well….fuck!” he says, and Earl laughs, shocked – not because he’s never heard the word before (he has, until very, very recently, attended high school), but because Cecil’s a real stickler about not using words he wouldn’t be allowed to say on the radio so he doesn’t get into the habit and Earl’s never heard such language coming from _him._

“Maybe we should give it up and go back to town,” Earl suggests.

“No! No,” says Cecil, “We put in all this effort, and so help me, we are going to enjoy it. Even if it’s just the two of us.”

There is a pause.

“You know, maybe this is a good thing. Yeah, it’s good,” Cecil says, like he’s trying to convince himself, “This is, after all the night when we say good-bye to who we were as children and start to become who we will be as adults. That’s what the ceremony and ritual sacrifice this afternoon was all about. And who better, really, to spend that time with than the person we were closest to as children, as we both leave that childhood behind together. Two best friends. Out in the desert. Yes, as it should be.”

Earl looks at him for a long moment. Then he sighs. “Yeah, I guess I’ll buy that. Anyway, we dragged all the camping stuff out here to convince our folks that this is what we’re doing, we might as well use it.”

“That’s the spirit, Earl!” Cecil says bracingly, “You make a fire; I’ll pitch the tent. We are going _fucking_ camping.”

Earl giggles, because that word still sounds so much dirtier in Cecil’s mouth.

* * *

 

They are both well-trained, and it is only a matter of minutes before they’ve transformed their illicit party site into a legitimate camping site. They leave the streamers up, at Earl’s request, and sit down by the fire with two plastic cups, their moonshine, and one of the gallons of orange milk.

“So, what ratio are we supposed to use,” asks Cecil.

“I don’t know,” Earl says as they stare at the two liquids, “Maybe the first sip should be straight, you know? See what it tastes like?”

“It’s gonna be gross,” Cecil says.

“Let’s try it anyway. We’ll swig right from the bottle, like the town drunk in all your cowboy movies.”

Earl follows words with action, then nearly drops the bottle in the coughing fit that immediately follows.

“It’s not bad,” he gasps out, as his eyes water, “Try it!”

“I don’t think so.”

“You have to, I did!”

Cecil looks dubious, but he takes the bottle anyway and gingerly tilts it back, trying to get as little as possible on his tongue. Nonetheless, he nearly gags on it.

“Oh, man, that is so much worse than I thought,” he says when he’s done choking and wheezing, “Does alcohol always taste like that? Or is it just because this was made by two kids with a makeshift still at a campsite?”

“I don’t know!” Earl says, “Maybe it’s better with the orange milk.”

“Here, I’ve seen my sister make these with real vodka,” says Cecil, holding one of the plastic cups up and trying to pour the right amount into it, “She calls them ‘Night Vale Screwdrivers.’”

“What does it have to do with carpentry?”

Cecil shrugs, then he fills the rest of the glass up with orange milk and mixes it with his finger. He takes an experimental sip.

“That’s not bad, actually. There’s, like, a bitter aftertaste, but the orange milk is so sweet that it’s actually kind of-” he takes another sip, “-it’s actually kind of nice. Here, give me your cup.”

Earl hands his over.

“How many do you think it’ll take before we start feeling something?” he asks, as Cecil pours.

“I don’t know. Not many, I’d guess, since it’s our first time.”

He hands the cup back to Earl, who takes a sip and pronounces it, “Surprisingly good!”

“Hey, did you bring hot dogs?”

“Yeah, Mom always packs them for me on camping trips. She’d be suspicious if I didn’t take them.”

“I’ve still got roasting sticks in my pack,” says Cecil, “And I’m hungry.”

They roast their hotdogs and drink their illegal cocktails as the moon comes out.

“What do you think it’ll feel like, being drunk?” Earl asks, as he tries to pour himself a second cup the way he watched Cecil make them.

“I don’t know. It must feel pretty good, or people wouldn’t do it so much. Especially given the way this stuff tastes.”

He sloshes what little liquid remains around in his own plastic cup, and finishes it off.

“Pass it over when you’re done,” he says, “I’m ready for my second round too.” 

* * *

 

There’s a slightly hazy feeling around the edges of his mind, but none of wild exhilaration Cecil had imagined when their health teachers issued dire warnings about alcohol “lowering inhibitions.” He feels no inclination to do any of the wild and crazy things drunk people do in movies. He just feels a little light-headed, almost dizzy – like when you stay up too late without eating enough. Except that the feeling's a little…nicer? Kind of contented? Is this what “drunk” is? Or has he not had enough yet.

“You know, this is nice,” says Earl, unconsciously echoing his thoughts, “Not how I pictured spending the night of my graduation, but nice.”

“Yeah, it is,” agrees Cecil, “But I still wish everyone else had shown up.”

“We’re always alone, Cecil, why are we always alone?”

“ _You’re_ not always alone. You’ve had two girlfriends and a boyfriend since middle school. I had one summer fling last year and he broke up with me when school started. _I’m_ always alone.”

“That’s shitty, man. I mean, you’re awesome! Why don’t more people notice that you’re awesome?”

“One of the great mysteries of the universe. You know, the more you drink this stuff, the better it tastes.”

“Pass me some.” Earl sticks out his hand.

Cecil passes over the bottle of moonshine.  They each have their own gallon of orange milk beside them.

“Thanks. You know, dating sucks.”

“It totally sucks.” Cecil sighs. “I wish we could just date each other. That would be so much easier.”

“Maybe we should try,” Earl says, surprised he hasn’t thought of this before. It would certainly be less lonely, and all of a sudden he is feeling indescribably lonely

“You think?” asks Cecil.

Earl shrugs.

Cecil leans towards him, feeling nervous and suddenly hopeful. He has never _wanted_ to kiss Earl before, but maybe that’s because he’s never tried it. Maybe it will be wonderful, all stars and rainbows and explosions, and then he could be with Earl and it would be so _easy_. No awkwardly getting to know each other, because they already know each other. No being disappointed to learn his flaws, because Cecil already knows them. No nervously wondering what he’ll think when he finds out how poorly Cecil reads social cues, or that he blabs too much about personal stuff, or how petulant he can sometimes be, because Earl already knows all of his faults too.

They kiss, hesitantly, and Cecil feels…nothing. Just chapped lips and awkwardness and alcohol breath. But as he pulls away, he feels a sudden stab of fear. What if _Earl_ liked it, and what if this thing is hanging between them for the rest of their lives, making it awkward and, oh crap, what if he just lost his best friend why did he agree to do that that was so stupid fuck –

“Well,” says Earl, nervously, “That was- um, I mean, that was – well-”

“…weird,” Cecil says cautiously. A look of tremendous relief comes over Earl’s face.

“Oh, thank God, yes, totally weird,” says Earl, “What a stupid idea.”

“Let’s never do that again,” says Cecil.

“Never ever,” Earl agrees - so emphatically that it gives Cecil pause.

“Am I a bad kisser?”

“Oh, no no no no,” says Earl, making the OK sign with his hand, “Good technique.”

“Oh good, you too,” says Cecil, “It’s just that it was _you_. Wait - that sounded wrong.”

“Nah, I know, I know,” says Earl, “It’s like we told Hannah back in high school. We’re too much like family to date.”

Cecil’s eyes light up and he grabs Earl’s forearm with both hands.

“We can say ‘back in high school’ now!” Cecil squeals.

“Because we’re not in high school anymore!” Earl shouts back.

“BECAUSE WE GRADUATED!” Cecil shouts in Earl’s face, leaning a little too close.

Earl breaks away and raises both fists in triumph, looking at the sky and shouting, “WHOOO!” Cecil joins him, whooping into the night.

“Do you know what you’re going to do, now that you’re done?” Cecil asks when they’ve calmed down.

“Not really,” Earl says, “I’ll figure it out in college, I guess. Scoutmaster Phillips says I can volunteer with the troop, but that’s not really a job.”

Earl sighs. “Wish I had a plaque in City Hall telling me what to do with my life.”

“I like it,” says Cecil, “But I want to work in radio. What if you had one that told you to do something you didn’t want to?”

“But I don’t know what I want to do,” says Earl.

“You’ll figure it out,” Cecil says, “And it’s going to be great.”

“I guess you’ve got it all figured out already.”

“Maybe,” Cecil says.

“Maybe?” asks Earl, intrigued.

“Well…I keened to Station Management about it,” Cecil admits. He has never told this to anyone before. He leans in again and whispers, over-loudly, “They said they’ll take me on as announcer with an Associate’s degree in Communications. That’s only a two-year program.”

“And?”

“Well, before she disappeared, Mom managed to put enough into my college fund to cover four years of school. Now I could use the money to go above and beyond and get my Bachelor’s instead, but it seems like a waste since I’m already pretty much guaranteed a job when Leonard Burton steps down, so I was thinking…”

He looks at Earl shyly out the corner of his eye.”

“I was thinking…I’d like to go for the Associate’s and then use the rest of my college fund, um…to go backpacking through Europe.” He grins sheepishly when he finishes.

“That. Is. Brilliant,” says Earl, and at the moment that amount of planning does seem like a work of absolutely _staggering_ intelligence.

“You think so? You don’t think it’s a waste of money?”

“No, it’s good! That’ll be such a good experience. You can tell everyone about it on the radio when you get back. And you’ll remember it forever. If you have the chance, man, just take it!”

Cecil grins, relieved.

“And send me postcards,” Earl continues, “I want all the details on your torrid overseas love affairs.”

“ _Earl!”_ Cecil gasps, and he collapses into giggles.

“I want to talk to my sister about it first,” Cecil says, when he stops laughing.

“She’s not the boss of you.”

“Yeah, I know, but she’s been looking after me since Mom – you know – and I really want her advice. I feel better about telling her now, cause you’d tell me if it was a stupid idea, right?”

“Seriously,” Earl says, “GO.”

* * *

“Why does it keep changing?” Cecil asks, “Sometimes it’s round, sometimes it’s curved and skinny, sometimes it has a flat edge. Make up your mind.”

They are both lying on the ground now. Not because they are drunk. They are definitely not drunk. As a matter of fact they feel great, like they could climb a mountain! Not that mountains are real, or anything, but if they were real, and there was one right here, then Cecil and Earl could climb it. It's just that they want to be lying on the ground right now. The ground is nice and solid and reliable. Not like the horizon, which lurches and undulates whenever they try to sit up. But that’s its business – nothing to do with the rounds of spiked orange milk they’ve been drinking all night.

They are looking up.

“Fuck you, moon,” Cecil says angrily, and Earl giggles so hard he would have collapsed were he not lying down already, because Cecil cursing will never not be hilarious.

“Fuck you,” says Cecil again, “And the way you’re smaller today than you were yesterday. I bet you’ll be smaller tomorrow, too. Like you’re fucking eating yourself.”

Earl gives a greater peal of laughter. “Eating itself!” he cries.

For a moment, Cecil doesn’t get it. Then he does and oh, that is dirty – that’s the funniest thing in the world.

“Cause no one else will do it for it,” Cecil manages to squeal out before he, too, starts laughing so hard tears start streaming down his face. Poor Earl can barely breathe.

“That big round black part-” Cecil gasps, “That keeps getting bigger? _It looks like a hole!”_

“Hole!” wheezes Earl, and he starts laughing even louder.

“The moon is going into the hole!” Cecil shouts triumphantly, and he loses it.

 _“When it's a crescent it looks like a dick!_ ”says Earl.

“Ha, dick!”

And then neither of them can say anymore because they are laughing too hard to get the words out and who knew that they were _this_ funny, Hooded Figures, they are the greatest comedic geniuses in the history of the world, how did they not know that about themselves until this very minute?

“I’m gonna be sick,” Cecil says suddenly, and he rolls away from the campfire, trying to get as close to the edges of their campsite as possible before all that creamy orange milk comes back up. 

* * *

 

They lie in the tent moaning for hours the next morning, cursing the sun. When their headaches subside (but their stomachs still feel queasy) they clear their campsite more clumsily than they have ever done before, haltingly packing up their gear and safely dealing with the remains of their fire.

They leave the streamers and the party balloons to wilt and sag on the vegetation, and decide that the spare orange milk is too heavy to carry back and will just have to rot in the desert sun.

But they carefully bury what remains of their illegal moonshine, marking the spot with a symbol only they know. When they are twenty-one, they promise each other, and drinking is no big deal anymore, they will come back out here and dig it up, and see what their memories taste like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I couldn't think of any actual dirty jokes about the moon. Hope this seems enough like what drunk teenage boys would think of as "jokes."


	4. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it was so long a wait for this one; it's kind of a tone-shift and I had trouble with it. Thank you very much to therfm for beta'ing it for me! http://therfm.tumblr.com/

They start to drift apart slightly in college.  Cecil's still living with his sister to save money, and as an off-campus student with no gen-ed requirements, he's not really a part of the college life that Earl is embracing with open arms.  He still comes to Earl's dorm to hang out between classes sometimes, and he spends the night whenever there's a party or concert on campus that he wants to go to, but they’re not hanging out as much as they used to.

 That summer, Earl starts volunteering with the Scouts, assisting one of the Den leaders with a group of Tiger Cubs.  They are tiny and adorable in a way that Earl can hardly believe he ever was, and he has the best time corralling them and helping them earn their achievements.  He wonders, briefly, if maybe he wants to be an elementary school teacher, but he decides that he doesn't have the patience to deal with large groups of kids this age every day.  They are cute, but exhausting.

 In August, Earl's birthday comes and he turns nineteen.  He starts his second year of classes, nervously, because he still has no idea what he wants to do and he knows he'll have to declare a major next year.  In the fall, he signs up for Wallachian Poetry, Introduction to Sooth-Saying, Intermediate Trench Warfare, and Spanish III.

In the spring, Cecil finishes all his requirements and gets his degree in early May.  The next day he leaves for Europe.  "Send postcards!" Earl reminds him at his going away dinner, and Cecil promises to try, but what with the difficulties of locating foreign post offices and figuring out the stamps, well ...

So Earl isn't surprised when he doesn't hear from him.  He's a little more concerned in June when Cecil's projected return date comes and goes with no sign of him, but Cecil did say that he'd extend his trip if he managed to spend less than he expected and found he could afford it, so Earl doesn't worry too much.  After all, Earl doesn't believe there's anything in the rest of the world that could pose too much of a danger to a Night Vale Boy Scout.

In August, Earl's birthday comes and he turns nineteen.

 He is not sure why he is nineteen again instead of twenty, but he knows that he is, in the same way that he knows that his name is Earl Harlan and the sky is Void and gravity is conspiracy invented by the government:  it is simply one of the things that are true.  He is grateful to have another year to be nineteen.  Not many people get this extra chance to figure things out, and he plans to take advantage of it.  In the fall he takes Gender in Pop Culture, Advanced Trench Warfare, Differential Chemistry, and Ceramics.  By spring, he is no closer to figuring out what he wants to do with his life.  Cecil does not come back.  He starts to worry about Cecil, and about himself.  In the summer he starts volunteering with the Scouts.

 In August, Earl's birthday comes and he turns nineteen.

* * *

Earl makes a count and realizes that he has enough credits that he could have graduated three times over by now if he didn't keep repeating his second year, all his previous progress erased in all but his memory.  Deciding that picking a major might at least make what's left of his eternal sophomore year more interesting, Earl lists his favorite classes from each semester, hoping to find a pattern, but his preferences are spread across all different subjects, having more to do with the personality of his various professors than any particular interest in what they teach.  In August, his birthday comes, he turns nineteen, and he signs up for Fall classes:  French 101 (he's taken all the Spanish classes), Anthropology 205:  The Search for Our Alien Overlords, Organic Physics, and Numerology.  This semester, his favorite class is French, but not because he likes the language - it’s because of the pretty girl with dark skin and her hair in tiny braids swept up on the top of her head.  She speaks softly, when called on, lilting over her French words awkwardly in the same way that Earl does with this unfamiliar language.  Earl fully intends to ask her out, but before he gets a chance, he attends a frat party off-campus and really hits it off with a guy named Nikhil, who he ends up talking to on the porch until three in the morning.  Earl walks home in the predawn hours, with his head spinning even though he's completely sober (the Sherriff’s Secret Police strictly monitor who’s drinking what at the college parties) - but this feeling is so much more pleasantly intoxicating than anything that comes from a bottle.

Later that semester, his French professor pairs the class up for a dialog project and Earl finds himself opposite the girl with the braids. He learns that her name is Sandra.  They get along pretty well, and at the end of the project she asks him out for coffee.  He likes her even better now that he's gotten to talk to her, but things are starting to get serious with Nikhil, so he smiles sadly and says "No, thank you."  He wonders if it is some sort of cosmic rule that after you've been single for years you have to meet two people who are attractive, interesting, and interested at once; then he wonders if polyamorous people sit around and complain that they can never find more than one person worth dating at the same time.  He decides that that's probably how it works - it fits with his impression of how the world is.

He's still seeing Nikhil in August, when his birthday comes and he turns nineteen.

* * *

 

School, scouts, nineteenth birthday. Again and again and again.

 

* * *

Earl wonders if he is the only one repeating this year over and over, but he doesn’t ask anyone. Not Nikhil - whom he dates steadily through four nineteens, with the full knowledge that they’ve been dating continuously for four years but trapped forever in the same feelings and emotions as new-blossoming love, which is not as much fun as it sounds – or even Hannah, whom he still sees around campus sometimes as she takes her Accounting classes. (He hasn’t really been close with Hannah since that one year in high school when they had the same lunch period and the three of them hung out in the cafeteria.) He’s not sure why he doesn’t mention it – if it’s something that he _can’t_ talk about, or that he just _doesn’t_ talk about, too scared of the answer to feel comfortable bringing it up. If Cecil would come back, he would know for sure, because he can talk to Cecil about anything. But he thinks that Cecil won’t be able to come back until the loop ends and Earl finally turns twenty.

Because there are no consequences as time resets, Earl gives up and spends the next three years cutting classes, neglecting his scouting, and constantly partying.  They are the most boring three years of his life.

* * *

 In August, Earl's birthday comes and he turns nineteen.  He starts his second year of classes, nervously, because he still doesn't know what he wants to do with his life, and if twenty ever comes, then he'll need to pick a major next year.  He pillages the course listings for new topics, new courses, new subjects he has not been exposed to.  He ends up taking Accounting, Usual Human Anatomy, Nutrition, and the Weaponized Short Story.  Nutrition is sort of interesting, but not quite right, and none of the rest of them appeal to him - but Sandra's in The Weaponized Short Story and Earl smiles to see her again.  This year, she wears her hair natural, curled tightly around her head in a three-inch halo, and she participates a little more in class with the language barrier no longer an issue.  Earl thinks that she must like literature, for she sees potential in the stories that he does not, and they even talk for five minutes before class one day about how The Hero With a Thousand Faces relates to railway sabotage.  It's nice.  Earl would like to ask her out, see if she's still interested in dating, but this year there is a boyfriend who walks her to class sometimes, parting from her with a quick kiss, and Earl keeps a respectful distance.

* * *

In August, Earl's birthday comes and he turns nineteen.  He signs up for his fall semester classes, automatically picking anything new, having long ago given up finding a career but going through the motions nonetheless.  He drags himself to classes in Eldritch Biology, Soul Photography, Art History of the Future Neo-Italian Renaissance, and Statistics.  Nothing.  In the spring he tries again, expecting no better results, but on a whim he takes a one-credit elective cooking course and...wow.  Oh wow.  This, this is something.  It's almost alchemical, taking all these raw ingredients and transforming them beneath your hands.  He had no idea there was a theory and practice behind it like this - it's an art and a science all at once and Earl wants to know everything about it.  This might...this might be it.  He spends all that summer cooking for his family and for the scouts when he helps take the cubs on their half-day long "camping" trips.  That fall, he signs up for everything NVCC offers that's tangentially related to cooking or food or running a kitchen and by Novemeber he's positive:  he knows what he wants to do.  He takes Spring semester off, concentrating on applying to culinary school.  All that summer he waits for his application to be accepted or rejected.

In August, Earl's birthday comes and he turns nineteen.  He starts his second year of classes, nervously, because he still doesn't know what he wants to do with his life. He remembers taking his cooking class, deciding to become a chef, and applying to culinary school, and he knows that in November he will decide that again. But this is August, the time when he does not know what he wants to do, and so he is undecided, even though he knows what he will eventually decide and when he will make the decision. He is not sure how he can both know this and not know it at the same time. Thinking about it makes his head hurt, like staring too long at the Hooded Figures or the Shape in Mission Grove Park. He stops worrying about how he should know that he wants to be a chef and signs up for Fall classes in confusion, like the lost sophomore he’s supposed to be. He feels better in November, when he makes the decision again and the mental dissonance falls away. In the spring he applies to culinary school. In the summer he waits to hear back.

In August, Earl’s birthday comes and he turns nineteen.

* * *

 It takes Earl almost a decade after that to finally think of leaving Night Vale.  His home and his family are here, and he doesn't want to go, but maybe if he leaves he'll break out of this circle, he won't be trapped.  He gets in his car and starts driving until he sees the lights of another town.  He wanders about begging until he finds work as a dishwasher in one of the local restaurants.  He sleeps in his car, hoping that eventually he'll be able to save up enough to start attending cooking classes part time, maybe work his way up in the kitchen.  On the night before his birthday, he curls up in his backseat, hoping and praying that he will wake up tomorrow and be twenty, that he will finally have a future.

He wakes up in Night Vale, in his own bed, and he is nineteen.

* * *

 In August, Earl's birthday comes and he turns nineteen.  He starts his second year of college, and takes Ancient Greek History, Geology 206:  Examining the Myth of Mountains, Quantum Music Theory, and The Early Development of the Novel.  He regrets taking this last, as it turns out that when novels were just being invented, they were super long and boring and he hates every one of them.  The professor's an asshole, too; he seems to regard everything on the syllabus written by a man as an important step forward despite its shortcomings while dismissing women's early writing as frivolous little asides that he unfortunately has to go into due to their place in the historical record despite them being completely devoid of merit.  Earl doesn't see any difference between them in terms of quality; if anything, he finds the women's work to be very slightly less _astonishingly dull_ (which is not actually saying all that much), but despite having taken more lit classes over the years than he likes to think about, this isn't his subject and he can't find the right way to express his objections.

Sandra's in this class, too, though, and she _does_ know what she's talking about.  She argues with the professor almost every class, leaning over her desk in passionate earnestness, hand in the air every five seconds impatient to be heard, a bright light in her eyes as she defends undervalued female authors from his critiques or tears into the overlooked flaws of the venerated male works.  Earl _loves_ it.  He watches her eyes flash and her hands move wildly with her words, though she keeps a tight hold on her temper, never sounding angry, only convicted and correct.  She smiles when she lands a particularly good blow against the older man who's supposed to be an expert, which makes Earl feel better about having his eyes on her all the time - like he's cheering her on in an antagonistic game that she enjoys, not like he's fetishizing her anger, which he hopes he’s not.  (He does wonder, though, if the slight hint of a Spanish accent that creeps into her voice sometimes when she gets really worked up also appears when she's expressing other passions, and he wishes he could find out.)

One day in class Earl makes an involuntary noise of agreement during one of their arguments and the professor rounds on him.  "Something you'd like to share, Mr Harlan?" he says, checking his seating chart to see which student he's talking to.  (Which is another thing Earl hates about this professor, that not only does he not use their first names, but that he makes the _Mr'_ s and _Ms_ 's sound patronizing, like he's talking to children)  "I agree with Sandra, sir," he says.  "And why is that, Mr Harlan?"  Earl shrugs helplessly, ending it in a gesture back at her, "All the reasons she just said."  The whole class laughs, but Sandra turns and flashes him a smile as if she understood what he meant to say and appreciates the support.  There's something in that smile, though, that makes Earl think that if he asked her out this year, he'd find her both available and still interested.  He has never wanted to do anything so badly in his life.

He does not ask her out.  He doesn't want her to become like the others he's dated over the years - Mai, Nikhil, Jorge, Rebecca, Sam, Sven, Nadia, Hiromi - names and faces that blend together in his memory of this one repeating year.  Relationships that, in the end, didn't mean anything, couldn't mean anything, because no matter how much he learned from them or how much they changed him, all of it, like every other way he grows, is overwritten in August when he's still nineteen and still nineteen and still and forever nineteen.  He is no more mature than he was when he started, and even though he doesn't know her well, Sandra's already too important to him to let a potential relationship to her become another meaningless place holder in his immaturity.  He wonders if this is how Cecil used to fall in love, breathless and all-or-nothing, and if this is why he always had so much trouble talking to his crushes.

Earl hasn't thought of Cecil Palmer in years, and he wonders suddenly whatever became of him.  Is he, from the perspective of his own non-looping timeline, already back in Night Vale and hanging out with a twenty-year-old Earl?  Or is he still wandering around Europe, repeating the same year over and over, spending the same money in the same hostels in the same countries, unable to come home?  Or maybe Cecil met a nice boy in one country or another, and decided to stay at settle down, growing and changing somewhere else.  He pictures Cecil, older now, sitting across a breakfast table from someone nice, learning to like strong coffee and sweet pastry before going off to work, perhaps doing an English-language radio show for tourists and expats.  The image makes him smile, and he hopes for this reality for his friend.

Earl doesn't know if Sandra would become as permanent a part of his life as Cecil's imaginary European boyfriend, or if they'd never make it past the first date, or something in between - but he wants whatever he would experience with her to grow him as a person, like a relationship, even a short one, is supposed to do.  Earl cannot grow.  If he ever turns twenty, he promises, to himself or to ancient and unseen gods, he will find Sandra and ask her out.  If he ever turns twenty, he will go to culinary school and start building his life.  If he ever turns twenty ...

In August Earl's birthday comes and he turns nineteen, and he turns nineteen, and he turns nineteen nineteen nineteen nineteen nineteen nineteen nineteen nineteen.

* * *

Earl goes to bed and he is nineteen.

The sound of happy babbling wakes him up.  Automatically, he rolls over to look at the clock and registers that there is still half an hour left before his wife's work alarm goes off.  Quickly and silently, Earl gets up and pads down the hall to the little yellow room at the top of the stairs, going straight to the baby monitor and switching it off.  He hopes he got to it before it could wake Sandra.  Then he turns around and smiles at the thirteen-month-old standing in the crib, still making happy baby noises.  The kid looks like him, except for the parts that look like Sandra

 "Somebody's up early today," he says, picking the baby up, "What do you think, should we surprise Mommy today, hmm?  Should we make Mommy breakfast?  Is that a good idea?"

 He puts the kid on his hip and heads downstairs towards the kitchen.  On the way he pauses to examine himself in the hall mirror.  He is definitely not nineteen anymore.  He looks much older, though not in ways that are easy to define.  There are no lines or wrinkles on his face yet, nor is there grey in his hair or in the tiny whiskers that show on his early-morning preshaven face.  But his appearance is somehow ... settled ... in a way that it wasn't before.  His skin doesn't have that youthful glow anymore, and his face looks somehow wider.  He seems to have grown into his nose. 

 Earl wonders how old he is now.  Probably in his thirties, he thinks, looking at his reflection, but he can't tell if he is early in them or late.  He’s definitely still much younger than he would be if _all_ the years he spend at nineteen had finally caught up with him.  It feels odd now, not to know, after years of rock-hard certainty.

 The baby reaches for their reflections in the mirror, and Earl comes back from his reverie and continues with what he was doing.  He walks into the kitchen and he knows where everything is, despite having no memories of ever being in this room or this house before.  Earl makes coffee, toast, and eggs one-handed with practiced ease, as if he cooks breakfast while holding a baby on his hip all the time, putting Sandra's eggs in a little earlier so they'll be over-medium, the way she likes them.  By the time she stumbles downstairs for her coffee, bleary-eyed and wild-haired, he has the eggs keeping warm in the covered pan and the kid in the high chair eating dry cheerios while Earl finishes slicing a banana onto a little round-edged plastic dish.

"What a nice surprise," she says, looking around the kitchen.

"All this one's idea," says Earl, pointing at the high chair.  Sandra smiles and ruffles the kid's hair, cooing happily as the baby babbles at her; Earl sets the table while they say good morning.  When he's finished, she says, "Thank you," and gives him a quick kiss - an action he leans into automatically - and experiences the same emotional reactions to - as if they had done this a thousand times.

After Sandra leaves for work, his mother-in-law Maria arrives just in time for Earl to shower and change for his own job.  Earl does not remember ever meeting her, but he knows to expect her and he recognizes her immediately, handing over the kid to be spoiled by Grandma while Dad goes to work.  He doesn't know how he and Sandra would manage without her.

Earl starts his shift at _Shame,_ Night Vale's finest dining establishment, where he does prep work for sous chef LaShawn Mason.  He has one of the lowest positions in the kitchen, but he thinks he may be promoted soon.  Earl has mixed feelings about this:  he wants to advance in his career, but he knows that the most senior staff can work 12 or even 14 hour shifts every day, and he doesn't want to be taken away from his family for so long.  He'd have to stop volunteering with the scouts too (he’s a Scoutmaster now), but this concerns him far less than the idea of potentially leaving the house before his child wakes in the morning and not coming home until past bedtime.  Still, there are a few rungs on the career ladder to climb before he'll have to seriously worry about that.

A set number of hours into his shift, Earl goes as if by force of habit to the radio in the corner and turns it on just in time for Cecil's show to start.  All the chefs in the kitchen like listening to the show, but Earl feels no personal connection to the voice that speaks to them over the airwaves.  Of course he remembers a time when he and Cecil were friends, best friends, but that was ages ago.  They haven't been close in years - decades!  Not since the first time Earl turned nineteen.

Earl gets home just in time to help Sandra give the kid a bath and a goodnight kiss, then they lay in bed and read together before it's time to go to sleep themselves.  Earl looks up from his municipally approved book and glances at the drawer across the room where he knows, with the certainty of long-established facts, that his culinary school diploma lies safe in a lockbox with various birth certificates and other important papers, though he has no memory of receiving the diploma or even ever attending culinary school.  He wonders if this happened to everyone in Night Vale - the repeating of a single year ad nauseum and then the sudden waking having leapt forward into a new life that feels comfortable even though it should be strange.  Or did everyone else experience all their previous years of growth and change with him alone in his time loop?  He wonders especially about Sandra.  Does she remember awkward courting followed by serious dating, a proposal, wedding planning, getting married, being newlyweds, learning she's pregnant, being pregnant, giving birth, first feeding, first cry, first soft food, first crawl....There are so many important milestones Earl has missed. He knows he should be upset by their loss, but mostly what he feels is contentment - because he _is_ content in his new life, just as unquestionably as he is a husband and a father and a chef, and because he is so overwhelmingly grateful at no longer being nineteen that it's hard to be upset about anything that comes with it.  He is worried, though.  Did Sandra get to experience all that he missed, or did she also go to bed alone at nineteen and wake up years older next to some guy from college she used to barely know? Did she experience more choice in how their lives turned out than he did, and if not, is she as happy as he is with the life that was chosen for them?

 He thinks about how to ask her all of this, but he can't seem to find the questions that will satisfyingly convey all that he wonders and hopes and fears.  He tries out "Are you happy?" in his head, because that's what he wants to know, but the simple question is far more vast and terrifying than the complex ones that he cannot find the words for, and he dismisses it immediately.  At last he says, hesitantly,

 "Do you remember having class together, in college?"

 Sandra puts her book down and turns to him.

 "We had lots of classes together," she says, smiling, and Earl feels a flood of relief wash over him, because if Sandra remembers more than one class, then she remembers more than one year, and there was at least one other person - the most important person - repeating time with him: he was not stuck in that loop alone.

 "You were kind of quiet," she goes on, "but when you did talk, you always said something worth listening to."

 Sandra's smile turns a little sly.  "I had _such_ crush on you," she says.

He could count on two hands the number of times he's spoken to Sandra before today, and yet Earl knows this woman as well as one person can know another.  He knows the big things - what she values, and what she fears; what makes her laugh, and what sends her into a rage; all the things and people that she loves and hates.  But also the small, intimate things - which chore she hates the most, which songs she sings in the shower, how she behaves when she's drunk.  He knows all the places where she's ticklish, and where she's most sensitive; what it feels like to kiss the dip of her collarbone and the inside of her elbow; he knows every line and curve of her body and every noise she makes in bed.  Earl has simply accepted everything else that he woke this morning knowing, but he feels strongly that this is something he should find out the truth of himself.

Earl cups the back of her head and kisses her deeply, the way he knows she likes; and Sandra kisses back in a way that tells him that she’s as eager as he is to verify their unexperienced knowledge of each other.


	5. Eternal Scouts

Earl drops by the station on the way to the vacant lot out back of the Ralphs. “We need you to tell your listeners to come – no, to run – to the burlap tent over the vacant lot right now if they want to witness the ceremony,” he tells Cecil while a pre-recorded segment plays through the headphones resting loosely around Cecil’s neck, “Based on the signs and portents, we’re pretty sure that the ceremony will be starting any second now. But so much of the ceremony is outside mere human control that we can’t be more specific.”

“I absolutely will. Oh, this is so exciting! I wish I could be there instead of stuck in this studio,” Cecil replies.

Earl nods grimly. He thinks that perhaps Cecil is lucky that he won’t be able to attend.

“I know you have to go, but before you do, do you think you have time to tell our listeners what the mood of the troop is on this momentous occasion?” He holds up the Little Reporter’s Book of Big-Boy Note Taking that he’s had for as long as Earl has known him, poised to record Earl’s response.

“I can’t speak for anyone but myself,” Earl demurs.

“All right, then. How do _you_ feel on this momentous occasion?”

Earl considers.

“I’m _proud_ to be the first Scout troop to achieve this rank,” he says at last, because he is proud of it, so proud he is nearly bursting with it. He’s proud mostly of Franky and Barty, who’ve worked so hard and done so well - but also of the other scouts and parents who helped, of himself for leading his boys to greatness, and of the community that supported all of their endeavors. Franklin and Barton’s honor is a credit to the entire town, and never has a town deserved such recognition as much as Night Vale does.

“I am also terrified to be the first Scout troop to achieve this rank,” Earl continues, because that is true too. He is terrified. Scout ceremonies are always dangerous, and as the first ones to perform this particular ceremony, they have no way of knowing what particular dangers this one will encompass. “Always be prepared” is the Scout motto, but how can he be prepared if he does not know what to expect?  And the signs so far have been ominous: the mute messenger children, and those press releases Cecil has been reading encouraging attendees not to tell their loved ones where they are going and to take steps to ensure that they won’t be missed. Earl did not send out those press releases; they must have come from higher up. 

Earl would not, for anything in the world, let this honor go to any other troop in any other town – the very notion of Desert Bluffs earning it before them fills him with visceral shame and rage – but at the same time, a more practical part of him wishes that he could watch some other town go through it first.

“The two emotions are mixing inside my body, and it’s confusing,” Earl says. He hopes that going on Cecil’s radio show convinces people to attend: Franky and Barty deserve a large turnout. He hopes that going on Cecil’s radio show warns people to stay away: the smaller the crowd, the fewer Earl will have to protect. “It’s confusing,” Earl says again.

He recalls his tearful goodbye with his family this morning, and Sandra’s promise to raise their child to remember him, and to be proud of Earl’s sacrifice in the name of community service. He will be proud to die for his community, if he has to, but Earl does not want to die. He shivers.

Then he turns to go.

All day he has been looking around Night Vale and saying goodbye to the places he may never see again. Goodbye to the house he’s built a life in, goodbye to the restaurant where he works, goodbye to the park where he plays with his kid and the store where he buys his groceries. He does this automatically as he leaves Cecil’s studio too, looking around and thinking, “I will never see this radio station again” just before he goes through the door – a thought he does not expect to have any emotional reaction to, as he’s never been inside the radio station before.

Except – except he has, once, long ago, when he was twelve, with Cecil. A wave of nostalgic emotions that he did not have room to experience before suddenly crashes over him. Cecil Gershwin Palmer used to be the most important person in the world to him, outside of his family, and now he is practically nobody – just some guy he waves a casual hello to in the Ralphs when he doesn’t have any Scouting news to pass on.  And yesterday, he would have shrugged and said that it’s just the way it is, life moves on, and the people who were close to you at one stage aren’t always close to you in another.  But now, today, as he’s possibly about to die – and Cecil Palmer is possibly the last person he is ever going to talk to – now, that suddenly seems horribly wrong.

 _You should be “Uncle Cecil” to my kid,_ Earl thinks, turning back, _I should be checking out this scientist guy to make sure he’s good enough for you. But most of all, this, right here, this last goodbye between us: this should_ mean _something, more than it does._

Everything about this is wrong. And he only knows it now, when it’s too late to fix it.

Earl sighs heavily. “We could have had something, Cecil,” he says, laying his hand on Cecil’s arm, “Remember that.”

Which is perhaps not the exact sentiment he meant to express. But if he survives, he will come talk to Cecil again, and explain more clearly what he meant. And if not – well, he supposes those aren’t the worst last words to leave behind him.

* * *

 

Cecil adjusts the headphones back over his ears, and as the final minute of his segment about the vague, yet menacing, government agency's secret recruiting drive plays out, he takes a moment to consider Earl Harlan's final words to him.  They make him uncomfortable.  Not because of the sentiment - contemplating the potentiality of his imminent demise has always made Earl sentimental, just as it makes Cecil existential; it has been this way since they were kids - but because of what they expressed about the dichotomy in their relationship.  How can he simultaneously know Earl so well that he can take one look at him and think, "Ahh, yes, that is Earl Harlan's familiar old 'I-think-I-am-about-to-die-so-I'm-going-to-say-something-emotional-that-I-will-probably-be-embarrassed-about-later' face" and yet still be such a stranger that he cannot remember the last time before today that he and Earl actually talked?  He literally cannot remember it.  Masters of us all, he doesn't even know what Earl does for a living!  How did that happen?  How did he let it happen?  It's been years since he returned from Svitz, having woken up years older after spending who-knows-how-long rolling down a hill in the middle of an eternal night - come to think about it, he's not sure precisely how many years ago that was, or how exactly he got back.

But that's not important.  What's important is that those are years in which he could have, at any time, reconnected with his former best friend Earl Harlan and he just - didn't.  Of course, Earl didn't either, but there's no point recriminating about that.  You cannot control what other people do - you are only responsible for your own actions.  And Cecil's actions have not included any steps towards reestablishing their former friendship.  Why not?  Well, because he's been busy with his job at the radio station, but is that really a good enough reason to neglect such formerly important personal ties?  When was the last time he socialized with anyone outside of his bowling team?  Maybe - erg - maybe Steve Carlsberg is - ugh - _right_ about him.  Maybe he does work too hard.  Maybe he doesn't make enough time for his friends.  Although where _that jerk_ Steve Carlsberg gets off counting himself as one of Cecil's friends he'll never know - but Earl should count.

He's going to call Earl tonight, he decides, after his show is done.  He knows that Earl is terrified - a perfectly rational response, both to life in general and this moment in particular - but while Scout ceremonies have always been dangerous, their fatality rate has never been _complete_ , and if anyone can survive whatever's about to happen, it should be the Scoutmaster.  So after Cecil reports on the death toll and Earl Harlan's miraculous survival, he'll give him a call and invite him to hang out sometime.  Thus resolved, Cecil finds himself actually smiling as he prepares to tell Night Vale about his interview with the Scoutmaster.

He wonders if Earl ever goes bowling.

* * *

 

Earl Harlan probably could have made it out of the burlap tent over the vacant lot out back of the Ralph's.  But he lingers inside, fighting and harrying the mute children to give the others a clear path to evacuate.  His distraction techniques are effective, and this ceremony will have a surprisingly low casualty rate, but by the time the last of the Scouts makes it outside - one of his Eagles, doing him proud by carrying the tiniest of the Cub scouts to safety - the mute children have him surrounded and too outnumbered even for his skills.

Still, he did what he meant to do, and his troop is safe.  He got his boys out.

He reminds himself of this as the mute children drag him, clawing and screaming, to the hole in the vacant lot, and the thought comforts him.

But not quite enough.


	6. The Return

It's less than a week after Earl's return from - well, he doesn't like to think about it - that he's poached from _Shame_ by LaShawn Mason.  Earl is aware that most new restaurants go under within their first year, and he's hesitant to take a chance with _Tourniquet_ , despite what he knows of Chef Mason's prodigious skills.  But LaShawn makes him an offer he finds difficult to refuse:  a reasonable shift that gives him extra time with his family, a flexible schedule that can be built around Scout meetings and trips when he's ready to volunteer again, the chance to try out his own recipes as specials, and, best of all, the offer to let the staff's children come in and do their homework at a back table near the kitchen between school letting out and the dinner rush, giving Earl more time with his kid.  "My restaurant is going to be accommodating towards its chefs as well as its customers," LaShawn tells him, "That's how I'm going to attract and keep the talent we're going to need to modernize French cuisine."  LaShawn looks at him significantly. "Talent like you."  In the end, the benefits outweigh the risks and Earl signs on.

There's a lot to adjust to, returning to Night Vale.  The town is different than it was when he left.  Apparently he missed an entire corporate takeover and ensuing revolution, and much that was familiar will never be the same.  Then there's all the emotions that come with reuniting with his family, and getting used to his new job, not to mention living with the new nightmares and gaps in his memory that come along with his ... experience.

So he doesn't have room to consider his last words to Cecil, or the feelings that inspired them, for some time.

Then Gia Samuels reviews their restaurant for the Night Vale Daily Journal (an exciting burst of publicity that fills their reservations for weeks), and all of a sudden Cecil is mentioning his name on the radio.

Earl thinks about it as he whips sugar and egg whites together in a copper bowl.  He's picked up on a lot of what happened to Cecil while he was gone from listening to the show, and had most of the gaps filled in by local gossip.  He knows that during his disappearance, Cecil actually started dating that scientist he'd been mooning about over the air; that their relationship became serious and they'd even moved in together; and that said scientist is now trapped in a desert Otherworld with no definite hope of return.  Which makes things awkward.  If Carlos were still around, then Earl would just call Cecil and invite the two of them to dinner with him and Sandra:  a nice, casual get-together.  And in the safety of having both their partners there, any possible misconceptions about what Earl wants from him would quickly be dismissed and forgotten.  With Cecil on his own though, Earl would have to ask him either to third-wheel it with him and Sandra, whom Cecil has never met (awkward), or to hangout sometime just the two of them.  Which would normally be fine, but ...

But it's those stupid last words he spoke to Cecil:  "We could have had something."  No longer caught up in the emotional haze that proceeded the Scout ceremony and made everything seem more melodramatic, those words no longer seem like an appropriate expression of regret for a faded friendship, even one as close as his and Cecil's once was.  Now they sound like an expression of longing.  Romantic longing.

And then to approach him now, just when his boyfriend's out of town, with those last words hanging between them ... Earl knows what that would look like.

Which is ridiculous.  Earl's never thought of Cecil like that at all, nor of anyone else since Sandra came into his life.  But will Cecil understand that?  Does Cecil even know that Earl's married?  He wonders if he should just clarify things by casually bringing her up in conversation.  "Hey, Cecil, you want to hang out sometime?  Just the two of us, or with my wife, whichever.  Yeah, I have a wife now.  I'm married.  Happily."

Earl is so bad at implying.  Usually when he has something to say, he just announces it.  Boldly, like a good Scout.  Honest.  He imagines doing that now.  "Cecil, I know my last words to you several months ago may have sounded romantic in nature, but they were actually intended to express regret over the loss of our friendship.  I'd like to renew it, if you're interested, totally platonically.  And I know it might look weird that I'm approaching you about this now, right when your boyfriend is trapped elsewhere, but I swear that that's just a coincidence.  Me wanting to hang out at this moment has nothing to do with your boyfriend suddenly being out of the picture."

No.  Even in his own head it sounds like he's protesting too much, and Earl knows that he means it.  In his own mind, their relationship makes perfect sense - but looking back over the years, even before those horrendous last words, he can see where someone outside of his mind could put a very different interpretation on his words and actions.

If only that scientist would come back.  If only Hannah had never told them that they should be dating, if only he'd never kissed Cecil at graduation, if only he'd come up with something - anything - to say to him other than _we could have had something!_

But now the meringue is forming into soft peaks, which means it's time for the blood sacrifice, and he has no time to think about it anymore.  If Carlos comes back as soon as Cecil expects him, Earl decides suddenly, he will invite the two of them over.  If not, then Earl will make no approach, but wait to run into Cecil naturally and strike up a conversation with him as if nothing's happened, and see how he takes it.  It's a small town.  It shouldn't take too long for them to bump into each other.

Earl nods once, satisfied with the resolution of his thoughts, and moves on to his next task.

* * *

Cecil curses under his breath as the reservation page for _Tourniquet_ redirects him to _Applebee's_ yet again.  He misses food - real food, the kind Carlos used to make for the two of them.  He's gotten spoiled so quickly by a boyfriend who's not, like he is, helpless in the kitchen and now, left to his own devices, he can't even manage to make an online reservation!  He's so frustrated he half feels like crawling into bed with a bottle of brandy and spending the night crying in the dark, but he's done that a few too many times lately, and anyway Carlos should call him tonight and he doesn't want to be less than his best on the phone.  He takes a deep breath and struggles to rally himself, but it's not easy.

Cecil is so lonely.  He feels the loss of his boyfriend keenly; and the absence of Carlos's presence, which had previously filled so much of his time and so many of his needs, is making him conscious of other losses.  He has lost contact with his calling, with his community, with his friends.  This had started to happen before Carlos even came to Night Vale, but back then he had been accustomed to loneliness - and after Carlos, first Cecil's crush and then their relationship had filled his life to such an extent that he did not notice other lacks.  He did not notice that he had so few friends, and no close ones.  But now that his contact with Carlos is limited to what is possible over the phone or during brief, insubstantial manifestations, the gaps in the rest of his life are making themselves felt.  This should not be - even when Carlos returns, this should not be.  He should have people in his life other than his boyfriend.  It's not healthy for one person to be his entire emotional support system, whether that person is there or not.  He should re-establish ties.  He should bring a whole and complete person to his relationship with Carlos - not one dependent on what they have to sustain him completely.

He has withdrawn so much, he reflects bitterly, that Earl Harlan didn't even bother to tell Cecil that he had returned.  This stings, but you cannot control what other people do, he reminds himself.  You can only control what you do in response.

* * *

Earl does not run into Cecil naturally.  Not at the Ralph's, not at the gas station, not even at the PTA meetings they both sporadically attend:  Earl for his own child, and Cecil for the benefit of his niece.  There is no contact between them for weeks.

Then one day, one of the waitresses picking up her orders in the kitchen mentions that there's some weird guy sitting in their waiting area eating a sandwich and freaking out their stone-idol maître d’.

 _No way,_ thinks Earl.  But he walks out front towards the door and, sure enough, there's Cecil:  sitting on the bench, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and glaring back at the disapproving face made of volcanic rock as if he has no idea how inappropriate it is for him to be there.  It's so typically Cecil that Earl has to laugh.

"Cecil Gershwin Palmer," Earl says, stepping into the light, "What in the world are you doing here?"

"I'm having a meal at _Tourniquet,_ Night Vale's newest fine-dining restaurant," he says, holding up his wheat-free sandwich.

"Yeah, technically, I suppose you are," Earl says, grinning.

"I don't think your maître d’ appreciates my presence here," Cecil says, looking suspiciously at the stone idol.

"Oh, it's very judgmental," Earl replies, "But there are benefits to having a maître d’ that's an idol carved of volcanic rock.  It can see into the homes of anyone trying to make a reservation, and if it thinks they're not dressed appropriately for a fine dining establishment, it redirects them to a place it thinks more suitable for their accoutrement."

"Ooh," gasps Cecil, his eyes widening with sudden understanding, "You know, that's very snooty!"

"Yeah, it is.  But LaShawn thinks it's funny."  Earl leans closer.  "Apparently, before I got here, Marcus Vansten tried to make a reservation and it kept sending him to the booking page for a nudist colony retreat."

"No!" says Cecil, delightedly scandalized that Night Vale's most prominent citizen had received an even worse reception than he had.

"Yes," says Earl, "He couldn't get a table until he got his PA to make the reservation for him.  Apparently Jake always wears understated but tasteful suits."

"I'm surprised he didn't buy the place and tear it down for revenge."

"Me too," Earl admits, "But apparently once he got a table, old Marcus decided it was a hoot."

Cecil shakes his head in amusement.  "So, if I dress up, I should be able to make the reservation without problems?"

"Under normal circumstances, yes," says Earl, side-eying the statue, "But I think you may have angered it now.  Best to have someone else make it for you."

"I can wait until my regular dining partner returns," says Cecil, whose compelling desire to eat at _Tourniquet_ had somewhat dissipated the minute Earl walked into the entryway, "He cleans up rather well."

"And now you can say you've eaten here," Earl points out, gesturing at Cecil's ridiculous sandwich.

"I can," Cecil agrees smoothly, "But I confess that was not the only reason I came here today.  I have an ulterior motive."

"Oh?"

"I was hoping to run into you.  I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"You know," says Cecil carefully, "Not too many people understand the mystical art of cooking.  It's nearly forgotten.  I'm sure my listeners would be _very_ interested in anything they could find out about it.  So, I was wondering if you would be willing to come on the show sometime, and give them some cooking tips?"

Cecil inclines his head, hoping.  He's rather proud of his little idea.  If Earl agrees, he'll have a chance to see his former best friend on a regular basis, and the opportunity to perhaps learn enough to cook himself something edible instead of waiting for Carlos to come home to have a decent meal. 

Looking at Cecil, Earl can't tell if he's remembering that rash promise he made when they were twelve to give Earl a segment talking about his job on his future radio show, or if this is a new idea.  Either way, Earl smiles and says,

"I'd love too!  But I'll have to ask Chef Mason about it first.  As sous chef here, I'd be representing the restaurant by default, so I'll need the boss's permission."

"I completely understand."

"But don't mention on your show that I'm waiting for his say-so.  I don't want to put any pressure on him to agree."

"Of course not," says Cecil, in a how-could-you-even-think-I'd-do-that voice that lets Earl know, without doubt, that that's exactly what Cecil would have done if Earl hadn't thought to tell him otherwise.

"But I certainly hope that LaShawn Mason says 'yes,'" Cecil continues in his normal voice, "I think this new segment could really be something."

Cecil grins at him, teasingly, and Earl suddenly feels ridiculous for being so worried about being misconstrued. He should have known that no matter how much time had passed, Cecil, of all people, would still understand him, one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Cecil and Earl are friends again! The story's basically done now - last chapter will be something of an epilogue where Earl and Sandra invite Cecil and Carlos over for dinner after Carlos's return. I hope everyone's been enjoying it so far - let me know what you think!


End file.
